An "Indiana Jones" Morning

Mornings and I have come to an agreement. They don't growl at me, and I don't snarl at them. It is with a large sigh, however, that I must admit that there are some mornings that are no respecters of persons. In short, junior high band practice mornings.

Now there is a very good reason why I avoid mornings. I don't function like anything even remotely human until after I've had my first pot of coffee. Band practice mornings are an aberration I have learned to deal with by cultivating an effective autopilot system and having a daughter who knows how to make coffee. It's not completely effective, and there are some mornings when I'm actually awake, but that's a different story.

Today was one of the mornings when I was forced to wake up. I live in a part of the country more familiar with snow from the first week of October to the last week of April. This year we spent most of the winter staring at dead grass. Last night, Winter decided to try to catch up by presenting us with a snowstorm. Spring, however, argued the point and we ended up with large flakes of white stuff that melted on contact with everything. Including the back gate, and more importantly, the latch of the back gate.

Coffee cup in hand, eyes narrowed against the obscene glare of the rising sun, I attempted to go out the back gate, start up the family "beastie" and drive my budding Beethoven to band practice. The temperature was only a few degrees below freezing, but my body was protesting every degree below "warm bed" temperature. The only thing colder than the brisk breeze was my enthusiasm for being awake before nine.

My daughter had already tried, unsuccessfully, to free the latch on the gate. I tried. I even used my size 9 boots to jar both gate and fence, but the only thing I managed to do was slop hot coffee on my bare hand. I put sugar in my coffee. I was not impressed.

I stood there, staring at my coffee and my wet hand. Something occurred to me, unusual for that hour of the day. It was immediately followed by a mental scream of anguish at the contemplated sacrilege. In a very disgusted voice, I announced, "I haven't got time for this." I slopped several mouthfuls of coffee over the latch and it obligingly opened. My daughter tried -not very hard mind you, but she tried - to stifle her giggles.

So what has this got to do with "Indiana Jones"? During the filming of "The Raiders of the Lost Ark", Harrison Ford, so the story goes, was blessed with a wicked cold. Filming of the scene where Indy is chasing the men who kidnapped his girlfriend and is attacked by a sword-swinging lunatic, wasn't going very well. Ford's temper was starting to fray. Between his cold and frustration at not being able to get the scene "just right", Ford finally solves the problem of how to deal with this menace by pulling out his pistol and shooting his opponent. The words that accompany the action? "I haven't got time for this."

"Indiana Jones" has his pistol and I, "Saskatchewan Smith", have my coffee cup. Even Mother Nature can't beat us.